


I’ll paint you new colours my dear.

by esmehoe



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, mention of sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27483934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmehoe/pseuds/esmehoe
Summary: A look into Polly and Rubens night together and what led to it.
Relationships: Polly Gray/Ruben Oliver
Kudos: 6





	I’ll paint you new colours my dear.

**Author's Note:**

> Polly and Ruben are criminally underrated so I had to write them.

Polly never thought she’d be able to feel that buzz ever again. That little tingle that would redden her cheeks and spread it’s way to her chest and settle deep within her belly. Her light had dimmed, her colours had run away and left her with shades of grey and nothing more. She’d accepted that the feeling would become a stranger to her, something she’d known in a past life where moments were more colourful. Or perhaps colourful wasn’t the right word, things had never been all too colourful for Elizabeth Gray. 

She’d had her moments of course, everyone does. The moments of fleeting peace where she’d be consumed with the brightest colours. The days her children were born came to mind, the first moments she set her eyes upon their little scrunched up faces as they cried out for her. Those moments had been of pure irreversible joy, the sound of their cries filling her heart with hope and eyes with tears of utter relief. 

But even those moments were tainted with dread, she knew her children wouldn’t have the easiest of lives but she reasoned that at least they’d never be deprived of love, which was more than many children could say. 

The day the boys had returned from France had also been one of those colourful moments in Pollys life. She remembered that day so clearly, she remembered dressing Finn in his best suit, which wasn’t much at the time but it was the thought that counted most for the Shelbys. She’d pinned flowers in Adas hair and donned herself in her best dress. She couldn’t remember how many nights she’d prayed to see this day, the day where her nephews would come home, unharmed in the only way she could ask for. 

She remembered speaking into the darkness of her bedroom, the fire the only thing providing her light enough to see the shadows around her. She’d speak out into the silence of the room hoping someone would hear her pleas to keep her boys safe. A part of her always hoped their mother would answer. She’d sometimes feel the air shift in a room when she entered, or a shadow would catch her eye as she entered the house. She’d like to think it was her, somehow trying to assure Polly that she didn’t have to do it alone, didn’t have to carry the weight of the worry and prayers and hold everything together all by herself. 

It was all worth it when she saw them, her boys standing together as they stepped off the boat and onto the soil where they grew into men. She held onto Ada and Finns clammy hands to stop them from running up to their brothers. She looked each one of them over as they began to walk towards them. Two arms and legs for each of them. ‘Good’ she thought, God had been on their side, the ghost of their mother watching over them as they saw things Polly would never know.

She hadn’t realized she was crying until John was in front of her, wiping her tears away from her cheeks. “Well don’t cry now Pol, we’re all home now see? Back in one piece just like we promised.” He said as he stretched his arms out to demonstrate his point. 

She choked out a laugh, a feeling of relief flooding through her at the thought that John could still manage to crack a joke after everything he’d done. She looked to her side to see Arthur holding a crying Finn and Tommy hugging a teary eyed Ada. 

God she felt like she could breathe again. Everyone was home again. She looked up to the sky and smiled as a stray tear escaped her eye. ‘I haven’t failed you yet Martha, your boys are home.” She thought to herself.

There weren’t many more of those warm colourful moments in the life of Polly Gray. And she’d accepted there’d be no more after _that_ day. The day she’d given up her pride to save the son that had been stolen from her. Given up her pride to the same people who had taken her son in the first place. 

She remembered the day Tommy had told her that he found him, found her stolen son. That day she swore she was running off nothing but adrenaline and cigarettes. Her son was _alive._ God how many nights had she spent praying for this day? Too many to count for her liking. 

And then she found herself in that room. With that man. She knew that look in his eyes, she’d seen it in many men before him, she had half the mind to slit his ugly throat in that moment. 

‘No’ she thought to herself. ‘They have your son. You just got him back, you can’t let him slip through your fingers again.’ And with that her mind had been made up. ‘One last time, just this one last time and then never again.’ She promised herself. 

She drank herself to near unconsciousness after that. 

Her senses seemed to wane after that day, nothing tasted as sweet, music fell on deaf ears, her colours were dulled. 

And then she met him. 

She felt ridiculous to feel so smitten at her age, he was a guest at her nephews wedding for Gods sake. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t be so careless with the men she let into her bed from now on. But this one... this one she couldn’t quite shake. He was to paint her portrait. She would have to spend hours alone with him as he analyzed her every feature. God it sounded like something out of a romance novel didn’t it? 

The days she spent standing so still had proven to be some of the most enthralling she’d had in months. He was quite the tease she found. He had a quick mischievous way of choosing his words around her. There were many times he’d caught her blushing though she’d never admit to it.

“Paint me with a blush if you find it so necessary, but I assure you it’s all in that head of yours.” She spoke with a smirk as she kept her eyes trained on the decorated wall before her. 

“As you wish my dear.” He spoke softly, a sly little smirk growing on the corner of his mouth. 

That was it. That was the moment they all came back. Her colours returned to her, flooding through her so violently that she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. 

“Are you quite well?” He asked with sudden concern as he dropped his paintbrush and made his way over to her.

She held out a hand before his hand could take hers. “Yes, yes I’m fine. It’s just quite warm in here don’t you think? I think it’s the paints getting to me, perhaps we could open a window.” She spoke in a hurried mumbled tone. 

He took a moment to watch her, concern written on his dark features. “Of course.” 

God she was screwed. 

* * *

She never thought she’d be able to feel this again, this warm pulsing energy that made her feel young and so irrevocably excited for what was to come. 

That man... that evil wretch of a man had taken that from her, he’d stolen that part of her soul that day on the table. Sometimes she swore she could still feel it, the coldness against her back and his hands rough and persistent against her tensed body. 

But now she was warm, and he was gone... she made sure of that. He was gone, the cold was gone, and her colours were back. 

She stared up at herself with the wonder of a child. “It’s good.” She spoke softly as she turned to look at the man standing across from her. She wondered if that was how he saw her, regal and self assured. She reasoned that it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because she felt herself again. She may not be regal or all too self assured but she was herself for the first time in so god damn long and all she wanted to do was kiss this man, this good man who wanted to kiss her just as much. 

And so she did. She kissed him and he kissed her back. He was sweet and gentle and considerate and everything she needed him to be. He kissed her as though they’d known each others lips for lifetimes, perhaps they did, perhaps her painter had brought her image to life time and time again. Following closely behind her, waiting to bring her colours back when life dulled them. 

“Thank you.” She spoke in a soft sigh, her hands buried in his hair, her mouth pressed to his. 

“For what?” He asked breathlessly as he looked up at her from where she moved atop him. 

“The painting, I love it.” She breathed again as his hand cupped the side of her face. 

He huffed a laugh at her choice of commentary. “I’d paint you for the rest of my days if I could. In every colour my dear.” 


End file.
